The Way Out Is Through
by Lady Serpentine
Summary: It's been a year since the Fall and now Hermione, Tonks, and Fleur are on the trail of murderers from deep within the Inner Circle. Severus and Bellatrix try to stay hidden, shielded behind a Gothic culture and a lifestyle of grit. Eventual SSxBL.
1. 00

THE WAY OUT IS THROUGH

_Mandatory Author's Note:_

First off. 'The Way Out Is Through' is taken from the song by Nine Inch Nails with the same title.

Secondly, this story will most likely be choppy, but I'll do my best. I use it to distract myself from the looming shadow of _Dead Letter_, which I have actually received emails concerning its future. Needless to say its chances of continuation seem hopeless and bleak,

Thirdly, I wanted to write a story that about what I see and what I know of the youth subcultures I'm familiar with. I didn't want to write a story about corset-wearing posers…

That and you all know Severus is cool.

.x.

prologue 00

It was cold and sterile in the room; there was nothing in the air, except for a whiff, now and then, of coffee. Hermione watched Madame Bones sitting at her desk, going through her papers. Hermione tended to dislike the Ministry of Magic in the morning - there was always a chill, unlived-in air to all of the offices, as if the building was brand new, every day. It made her feel uncomfortable, when people or objects didn't seem to have a tangible past.

The door opened behind her. "Sorry I'm late, Amelia," Hermione heard, and she turned in her seat to see Tonks edging into the room. The older - but not by much - girl's hair was dark purple, and hung in her eyes. It was strange, Hermione reflected, how she could never think of Tonks as an adult. She seemed far too fresh all the time to be given the weighty, mature title of 'woman'.

"That's fine, Tonks," Amelia Bones said brusquely, shuffling her papers and then setting them aside, leaving a peach-coloured folder lying alone in the middle of her desk. "Let's get down to business, then."

Tonks seated herself beside Hermione, flashing her a quick smile. Their more in-depth reunion could wait.

"Alright," Hermione said.

"As you are both aware, I'm sure," Bones said, "One year ago, after the fall of the Dark Lord, most of his followers scattered. This meeting is concerning Snape, and Lestrange."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Why had she been called in? She wasn't an auror, that was Tonks' job. She willed herself to calm down. She was probably just going to be used as a consultant, or something of that nature.

Tonks looked alert. "I thought Mulhollish was on that case," she said.

"He was," Bones agreed, "but we have realised he was unequal to the task."

"But he's one of the best," Tonks said, frowning sharply.

"No," Amelia Bones said, shaking her head. "Not for this. About a month ago… well."

She moved to pick up the folder and flip it open. It was thin, worryingly so; its contents consisted of only a few sheets of paper. Bones separated one sheet and slid it across the desk for Tonks and Hermione to see; Hermione leaned forward in interest.

It was a photograph printed on thin paper, and a Muggle photo at that. There was a tall, thin man in the picture, with long black hair, his profile circled in red ink to draw the eye to his face. There wasn't much to see; it was a shot taken of a crowd, partly blurred, and the subject of the photograph was half-hidden.

"That was taken a month ago," Bones said, "A little less. In one year, that's all we have. Just that one picture, and it tells us nothing."

Tonks was staring at the photograph, then looked up. "Then they must be good at hiding," she said. "There's nothing more I can do about it. That's what you're asking, isn't it?"  
Bones shrugged slightly. "Yes and no, Tonks. I am indeed requesting your involvement, but I hold a very different opinion of your calibre. And Miss Granger's, of course."  
Hermione's heart sank.

"Mulhollish is getting cocky," Bones sighed. "He's a purebred wizard, raised in an auror household, and yes, Tonks, you're right - he's one of the best dark wizard catchers out there. But unfortunately, there's a catch to all this. From what my department can see… Snape isn't a dark wizard anymore."

"Of course he is," Tonks said abruptly. "Look at what he did."

"I know what he did," Bones said, with a touch of sternness in her voice. "But that's not what he's doing now."

"I understand," Hermione said suddenly. Tonks looked at her sharply. Hermione picked up the photograph and moved to consider it more closely. "Snape's living as a muggle, in the muggle world, and Mulhollish isn't compatible with it. He can't even take a proper picture of a moving crowd."

"Exactly," Madame Bones said, looking relieved that Hermione was saying it, and not herself. "And as far as we know, you two girls are perfect for the job."

"I can't," Hermione said immediately.

"Neither can I," Tonks said.

Bones reached over the desk to retrieve the picture from Hermione, gently setting it back in the folder. "I don't want to put pressure on any of you," she said, "Nor do I want to insult you, if you find my views as such. But these two are top priority. If they finally do get away, they won't just settle down in hiding for the rest of their lives. They'll start another war, they'll kill more people. You two are of Muggle background, and you know your away around both the magical and non-magical worlds. Tonks is an excellent auror, and you, Miss Granger, are exceptionally sharp. Now," she said, carefully. "I can order Tonks onto this hunt if I have to, but you, Granger - your admission into this case will have to be voluntary. And I won't send Tonks alone unless she vouches for it."

Hermione glanced at Tonks. Tonks was frowning to herself, twisting her engagement ring, small and delicate, around her finger. Hermione's own hands tightened in her lap.

"Where are they?" Hermione asked Bones, still staring at Tonks.

"America," Bones said wearily. "We'll give you the exact coordinates if you take the case. You understand this is highly classified information."

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "I do."

And then she added, "I'll do it."

.x.

Tonks set her bags heavily on the carpet, just inside the door of Hermione's flat. "I'll just leave them here," she called.

"Alright," Hermione called back. She was packing away all of her necessities, her toothbrush and comb and shampoo and everything else. Tonks wandered into the bathroom, watching the muggleborn neatly set each item into a small traveling bag.

"We did the right thing, you think?" Tonks said.

"Of course we did," Hermione said, sounding unhappy. "What else can we do? We all lost friends in that war, and if we're the best people for the job, then that's that. We have to do it."

"But I can't believe we have to take Delacour," Tonks muttered, picking up Hermione's toothbrush holder and inspecting the little designs painted on the ceramic. "I hope she's as useful as Amelia said she is."  
"Same here," Hermione said, taking up her traveling case and leaving the bathroom, heading for the sitting room. The rest of her luggage was there - one small and one larger. She slipped her bathroom things into the larger suitcase.

"I've never been on a plane before," Tonks said, from the bathroom. "I wish we didn't have to take one, though. Bit weird."

"Magical transport's out of the question," Hermione said, sighing. "We have to enter the country legally."

"Then how'd Snape manage it?" Tonks, poking her head out of the doorway, asked. "He did it magically, probably."

"Well, he's walking around with a fake identity," Hermione responded, zipping up her suitcase. "Most likely, anyway. But if we get hassled by the police then we need to have identification."

"Yeah," Tonks said. "So how are you and Ron?"

"Oh," Hermione said, startled. "We're fine. You and Remus?"

"Fine," Tonks said.

"Good." Hermione said, checking her watch. "That's good."


	2. 01

First off, apologies for taking so long to get out this first chapter. It just wouldn't come out right, and then I fell sick. It's been far too long since I'd last written for this fandom, also, so you know – this chapter really sucks. Oh well. Hopefully I'll grow out of it. Probably not.

**edit: **I have (but not without rolling my eyes) changed the settings of this story so that the main characters registered are Severus and Bellatrix, when in reality the story is supposed to focus mainly on Severus and Hermione. I do this to avoid drama that I really don't feel like dealing with. This might annoy some Bella fans out there who aren't expecting so much Hermione, but I say this to you: I'm really sorry. I love Bella too, so I'll make her extra-awesome to make up for this. But it seems the Bellatrix Fans are more understanding than the Hermione Fans (how does that work? We may never know) and many of them also seem to believe that the two main characters in a story are supposed to get together. I don't know why, because that technically means that in the actual series Harry Potter is supposed to eventually end up with Lord Voldemort. I'm so confused. But maybe that's just the leftover symptoms of my flu talking. Okay. Is everybody happy now? Good. I'll go back to writing and stopping my various friends from taking E and passing out in the bathtub or something. I love you all. Bye now.

.x.

chapter 01

"Bloody airplanes," Fleur murmured thickly under her breath. Now matter how often she spoke with Bill, she never seemed able to shake her accent - and when she did it seesawed back and forth, and was more than a little disorienting to anybody listening. She sat back in her seat, closing her eyes, trying to calm herself down.

Meanwhile, Hermione was counting down slowly in her head. One hour to go. Tonks was fidgeting on the other side of her, near the window, playing with the little plastic cup that had held her serving of Pepsi.

Fleur tugged at her seatbelt and released it. Despite the earlier turbulence she had been calm and outwardly uncaring, but had refused to unfasten her belt for a long time. Now she apparently felt it was safe. "I do not like flying," she sighed.

"Neither do I," Hermione agreed faintly, barely paying attention. Fleur was her future sister-in-law, but Hermione was about as friendly to her as she was to the Unspeakables.

"We landing soon?" Tonks asked restlessly. "I hate it, I hate sitting around doing nothing…"

"Go over the files again."  
"I already did when we caught our connecting flight," Tonks said, irritably. She stopped talking as a flight attendant passed, making the rounds; she leaned over Hermione and reached over Fleur to hand the attendant her empty cup.

"Here," Hermione said, pulling the file from where she'd stowed it earlier, in the pocket attached to the back of the seat in front of her. "We might as well run through our plan, even though we don't have much going for us. How's that?"

Fleur sat up a little, interested. The young men seated across the aisle were staring at her with open-mouthed admiration, as they had been during most of the ride, but she hadn't even batted an eyelid in their direction. "Oui," she agreed.

Hermione pulled the folding tabletop down over her lap and set the folder on its surface, flipping it open. It did not simply contain the case files, of which there were few, any longer; Bones had added to its contents as much documentation as possible on Severus Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange.

Through reading them Hermione had learned a surprisingly large amount of information about her one-time professor, which felt a little strange - she'd never really had the typical student mentality that stated teachers weren't actually people, but an entirely different species altogether. She had always had a bit of a curiosity concerning them. But Severus Snape had been an object of morbid interest.

Hermione had to admit to herself that that was one of the reasons she was participating in the hunt. The biggest reason was for the space and excitement she craved, away from her family - the other was simple, driven curiosity. As a professor Snape had always fascinated her, and challenged her, and through it all had never smothered her with admiration or support. It made her work her best, and be her best, and she'd appreciated it. She'd known Snape had done it just because he was a mean, bitter person, but she always wondered for his motives. Surely an intelligent man like him could find work wherever he wanted - but that was before she'd discovered his past as a Death Eater, and the black mark on his record. But despite that, what else held him back? The man had been gifted. Why did he stay at Hogwarts?

Hermione thumbed through a few pages. "So, we've got to know our prey. That much is obvious."

"Lestrange, first," Tonks said. Bellatrix Lestrange was her aunt, but that never seemed to matter to Tonks. Duty before blood. "It's shorter."

Hermione smiled. "Right," she said. "Her stay in Azkaban, of course."

"You know what's a little creepy?" Tonks said. "You look at her biography and it's absolutely normal. She got married. Went to everyone's weddings - including my mother's, despite my father - became a dutiful lady of the house, held parties, was adored and respected and admired despite being a bitch, that sort of thing. Went horseback riding on weekends. And yet, she's mad."

"She was good at hiding it," Hermione said, shrugging.

"No," Fleur said, suddenly. Hermione glanced at the other woman, frowning slightly, but Fleur continued without missing a beat. "That is wrong. She was very sane before 'er imprisonment, but solitude did not agree with 'er."

"You've _got _to be crazy, to do what she did," Tonks pointed out sternly.

"No," Fleur said, unconcerned. "She was not crazy. She was in love."

"Whatever reasons she had for doing it," Hermione interrupted, not in the mood to have an argument about human emotion at the moment, "it was still done. That's why she's on the run with Snape."

Fleur made a disgusted sound in her throat. It seemed she'd never liked the Potions Master - probably, Hermione reflected in dry amusement, because his hair was greasy.

"You know he was almost my godfather?" Tonks asked.

"Really?" Hermione replied, startled by that random bit of information.

"Sure," Tonks said, taking the folder from Hermione to flip through it herself. "My mother asked and he said no. He couldn't stand kids - and me least of all, the older I got."

Fleur chuckled. "So?" she asked. "What are we doing, then?"

"Well," Hermione said, "We're going to land in L.A., take a cab to our hotel, and set up from there. Recent reports from Mulhollish and his team say that Snape and Lestrange are somewhere in the city."

"And they still can't be found?" Tonks asked, looking disappointed at the Ministry's lack of competence.

"They're apparently very good at hiding," Hermione sighed. "It's difficult to discern at times whether or not they're undercover or have already left. Some time ago Mulhollish was in Chicago for two months, only to find that Snape and Lestrange had absented themselves a week into the proceedings and Mulhollish had spent over a month looking for something that wasn't there."

Tonks whistled. "You've got to admit it," she said. "They must be pretty damn good."

.x.

Unlike Fleur, who disliked anything to do with flying, from the crowds to the line-ups to the in-flight cocktails, Hermione quite liked airports. They were orderly, but full of life - people meeting, people parting; people with jobs to do, people just wandering about. The food was ridiculously expensive, of course, but since all costs were being directed towards the Ministry of Magic Hermione didn't mind. She and Tonks sat at a small table within the reach of one of many little airport restaurants, drinking Ministry-paid coffee and pondering their task.

She had no illusions about her job, but she had to face the facts - Lestrange and Snape were on the run, and they were good at it. She hoped dearly that something had not set Snape's suspicions off - she wanted him to think it was Mulhollish or any other auror on the trail, and not a trio of women entirely unsuited to each other.

It was tremendously important that he had no idea who his pursuers were. Hermione would plan her moves in the expectation that Snape was planning his own moves in response to being tracked by a team of aurors instead of herself. It gave her a distinct advantage that would fall apart if he discovered her. Snape knew Hermione, after all, and he also knew Tonks and probably had a good idea of Fleur as well - and knowing the enemy was a powerful weapon.

Hermione had to look at it all from a critical point of view, and because of this admitted that Snape was playing it smart. Him and Lestrange avoided the small towns entirely, sticking to the big cities in order to hide in the crowd. His movements were sharp, erratic, and illogical, which made them hard to predict, and he was blending in the whole time. Hermione almost admired it. There were times when all she wanted to do was run away herself, but had never found the right amount of drive.

Now, though, she was in America. And that was very far from home.

"Fuck's sake," Tonks groaned, angrily destroying her croissant with a plastic fork. "I need to smoke." Fleur was off at a payphone, happily chatting away to Bill, her dialogue moving rapidly from English to French. Tonks glowered at her plate. She'd called, but Remus hadn't picked up - she'd been forced to leave a message. Tonks hated leaving messages.

Hermione dumped a little container of creamer into her coffee and stirred. "We'll be out of here soon enough."

"I can't believe," Tonks said sullenly, refusing to listen to Hermione's encouragement, "that for the first time in my life I'm in L.A., and it's to track down a pair of convicted murderers, one of which is my crazy aunt, and the other one a teacher that didn't like to wash his hair and gave me detention at least once a month when I was at school."

"I think that was partly because you were a rebel," Hermione pointed out.

"And he was a git," Tonks said.

Fleur came back, looking refreshed from her talk on the phone. "How's the family?" Hermione asked.

"Good," Fleur said pleasantly. "Did you want to call?"

Hermione felt herself start to flush, but kept it down. "No time," she said, checking her watch. "We should go meet the cab."

"Yeah," Tonks said, then decisively shoved the remains of her croissant into her mouth. Hermione choked on a little laugh at that - Tonks was the oldest out of the three of them, sure, but she never acted like it. Tonks stood up and stopped just short of colliding with a pretty young woman with long blue hair.

L.A., Hermione noticed, had a sort of funny look to it - golden and hazy. As they'd landed she'd been initially disgusted by the veil of pollution that hung over the city, but now that she was there it was strangely beautiful and iconic. It was hot and sunny, and a great change to what Hermione was used to.

They loaded their luggage onto their cab and left the airport - and Hermione finally felt that she really had escaped.

.x.

He couldn't find it anywhere, and that irritated him, beyond anything else. Focusing on small, mundane things always helped to clear his head, after all, so he set about trying to find it - checking the bathroom, their bags, even poking around the lobby to see if, in the case he had accidentally dropped it, that it was by some miracle still there.

With all of his options run out, he started to pull up the covers. This bothered Bellatrix, who had been slumbering (or, most likely, pretending to) in the motel bed the whole time, a great deal. She mumbled and complained, and resisted, but her efforts were overrun and soon she lay there in the tank top and boxer set she had for sleeping, half-curled up and with her arms over her head, as if she were shielding herself from aerial attack.

"What are you looking for?" she mumbled irritably. He pulled up her pillows and checked under them, then ran his fingers in the crack between the mattress and the headboard.

"My tuner," he answered distractedly.

Bellatrix shivered a little, and peeked at him irritably through her long fringe. "Oh," she said.

Severus paused, looking down at Bellatrix. Her hair stuck up in odd places, and she looked attractively tousled. He'd cut her hair yesterday only after having done his own, to ensure he didn't make too many mistakes with hers; he'd given her a fringe even though she'd protested, under the belief it would look ridiculous. Now she had a hairstyle that was long in the front, and short in the back, and accentuated her thinness rather than mocked it, which her former mane had. He was, all in all, quite proud of it. Bellatrix always had a tendency to stand out, but now he'd been able to help her blend in.

"You should get up," he said. "We ought to leave."

"You think?" Bellatrix asked, grudgingly sitting up in bed. Severus tossed down the blankets and moved to the other side of the room to start going through his bag again. "Yeah," she decided to herself, and crawled out of bed.

Severus was pulling clothes out of his backpack - mostly an array of t-shirts that he flung to the ground. "This is fucking ridiculous," he said aloud. Bellatrix stood at his shoulder, watching his distress with a keen, almost alien interest, before picking up her own bag and emptying out her various cosmetics and toiletries onto the top of the dresser.

"I'll be fifteen minutes," she said. "Then we're gone."

"Right," Severus replied distantly. Bellatrix blinked up at him and then, without warning, raised one hand and ran her fingers up the back of his head. He started in shock, feeling the undeniably pleasant sensation of her nails scraping up along his scalp. Bella didn't usually touch him, and in turn she became infinitely acidic whenever he happened to touch her.

"Your hair looks good," she said admiringly, which was almost as surprising as having her run her fingers through his hair. Then she picked up her toothbrush and paste and wandered into the bathroom. He heard her start the shower.

Severus shook his head and started to go through her things, too, in case he'd missed it when he'd searched her bag before. But no; it wasn't there. It was gone.

It wasn't that big of a loss - it was a pretty shitty tuner anyway, and it had been a thoughtless gift from another musician who'd found himself with a much better one. Still, it annoyed him that he'd actually lost track of it. He packed his bag again, zipping up with a feeling of ill humour.

Bellatrix came out of the bathroom in a puff of steam, looking pale and sickly and her hair only half dried. She pulled a pair of jeans from her bag, not bothering to hide her body from him, as uncaring as he was on the subject of modesty between them. "Find it yet?" she asked, digging through her bag for a bra and a shirt.

"No," he said. "Lost it. Or some asshole stole it."

"Who'd steal a piece of shit tuner like that?" Bella snorted, pulling her shirt on over her head. She leaned against the dresser and looked at herself in the mirror hanging above it, then decisively picked up a canister of hair mousse. She deposited a blob on her palm and smoothed it into her hair, trying to tame her hairstyle.

"Someone who didn't have any sort of tuner at all?" Severus suggested acidly. He bent to pick up some of her scattered clothes, mostly the various shirts, folding them up and moving to pack them into his gig bag, along with his guitar. "Your hair looks ridiculous; stop that," he said, glancing up at her.

She frowned and lowered her hands, letting Severus take over with the mousse. "I've never had short hair before," she said by way of excuse. "I don't know how to style it."

"You'll get used to it," Severus responded mechanically, ruffling it in the back. "Just let it look messy. It doesn't need a lot of effort."

"I know," Bellatrix said. Severus knew that as a young girl she'd been taught to preen and look good for the public eye, but Azkaban had destroyed the good breeding and taught her not to fuss. Now it was her way to do what needed to be done, with little or no flamboyance; and because of that she always betrayed her nervousness when she overdid something.

She ducked away from him once he'd finished, quickly severing contact, and moved to retrieve all that she had left in the bathroom. They packed efficiently, hastily folding jeans, or neatly crumpling up shirts to fit into as little space as possible. Within five minutes they'd destroyed any trace that they'd been there at all, save for the rumpled covers of the bed, and the damp towels. A year on the run had forced them to adapt, and they knew, with a gut feeling of fear, that they had to be quick to survive.


	3. 02

Feel free to check out the previous chapter for an edited author's note. Don't you just love it when disgruntled reviewers get what they want? I know I sure do!

.x.

Chapter 02

Bellatrix was carrying the guitar, despite Severus' initial restraint. "For fuck's sake, though, be careful," he'd said, "I just replaced the strings on it."

Bellatrix had just shrugged, her face expressionless behind her sunglasses, and hooked the strap across her chest so that guitar laid flat against her back, holding her own bag in one hand. She was always quieter in public. They had to live and survive as Americans, which meant squeezing out as much of their English accents as possible. Bella preferred not to put effort into it, and stayed the quiet, smirking girl at his side. Severus could alter his voice as best be needed; he'd managed to pass as French, once, when they'd gotten in trouble with a policeman, up east near the Canadian border. The cop had decided to give them a warning rather than deal with an apparent tourist from Quebec.

Severus ran his fingers through his short hair. Already the hot sun was starting to sink in through the shoulders of his dark t-shirt, and he knew they'd probably need to duck into a nearby building soon - which was why they switched directions as soon as they could, proceeding down one several angled, particular streets.

Bellatrix paused momentarily to admire a rack of magazines unfolded out onto the sidewalk, then joined Severus and several other people in walking across the street, moving in a wave, their heads bowed as one under the hot, blistering sun. Once back onto pavement they both headed for the front of what was a public lounge; but it was daylight, and so its sign was unlit and the windows were drab and dark.

They pushed through the heavy doors and into the front room where a woman sat dozing behind the counter at the coat check. Her bright red hair, with weak blonde highlights, cascaded over her shoulders and almost over the edge of the counter. Music from beyond, inside the club, drifted in softly, the song mostly just to destroy the drab stillness of the place at noon rather than for actual dancing. The place was never really, officially open until at least nine at night; but sometimes people still dropped by anyway, just to get a quiet drink.

Bellatrix took her sunglasses off and perched them atop her head and stood in the dimness, relishing the cool, while Severus stepped over and rapped the countertop with a fingernail covered in chipped black nail polish. The girl, Lauren, sat up sharply, startled, and gazed blearily up at her tall visitor.

She blinked once or twice, then broke into a tired smile. "Nice haircut, man," she said. "Looks good."

"Thanks," Severus said. He reached over the counter to fix the zig-zag part in her hair, tousled when she'd cradled her head in her arms. "What happened to you? You have raccoon eyes."

"Up all night, y'know?" she said, with a shrug. There was a drowsy slowness to her movements, as if she was fighting to keep up with the speed of the normal world. "My roommate and her boyfriend were having a fight and I had to mop up when he left. Christ."

"Who, Ariel?" Severus asked, frowning slightly. He was leaning against the counter in the customary position people always held, the type used by crafty employees when talking during work hours. Bellatrix, her attention piqued, wandered over. "Is she alright?"

"She's got blacker eyes than me," she said. "Fortunately she looks like that anyway with all her damn makeup."

"What happened?" Bellatrix asked, curiously. Lauren turned a bit of a smile on Bella. Lauren's fancy of her was no secret.

"Nice hair," she said.

"Trevor cut it for me," Bellatrix said. "Needed a change. What happened to Ariel?"

Lauren shrugged again, frowning a little, returning to her roommate's troubles. "I don't even know, but her boyfriend just went berserk. Hopefully he won't come back to the apartment tonight and try to start trouble."

"Well," Severus said, kicking the side of the coat check booth a little in some frustration, "shit. We were here to ask you if we could crash at your place for tonight."

"Oh," Lauren said, looking thoughtful. "Shit, indeed."

"How is the boyfriend a problem, though?" Bellatrix asked. She talked softly, in the slight chance she lost control of her speech, and slipped into the easy cadence of her native country. "Maybe if we're there he'd be less likely to start something."

"But Lauren and Ariel might not even be at the apartment altogether," Severus interjected impatiently. "Avoiding him, naturally."

"Hold on, hold it," Lauren said, making a T-for-time-out motion with her hands. She looked more exhausted than ever. "Listen, I'm not working tonight, just for the day, but Ariel might be out. I actually would like you two to be there. I'm going to be fucking exhausted and I'm not in the mood to stay somewhere other than my own bed. I just don't know where you guys could sleep."

"Fuck, Lauren," Severus said, with a shrug. "You know me. I can fall asleep in a goddamned bath tub."

"This is true," Bellatrix interjected.

"Okay, um," Lauren said. She was a born fidgeter, so she immediately picked up a pen and flicked it around in her hands. "Anne can take the couch and you can crash on the floor if you want, Trev. Or whatever, we'll see what happens."

"Thanks," Severus said, looking relieved.

"Yeah, thanks Laur," Bella added, which made Lauren perk up a little.

"No, it's cool," she said. "I love you guys, and I don't want to be alone if Ariel's fucking boy toy storms up threatening to break down the door. But anyway. Just gimme your shit so you don't have to carry it into the club. Did you want to talk to Dante?"

"Yeah, I did," Severus said, while Bella handed Lauren the bags and carefully slid the guitar from her back.

"Well, he should be at the bar, or at least in his office," Lauren said. "See you guys later," she added, disappearing momentarily while she stowed their things under the counter.

As Severus and Bellatrix entered the main part of the club, she leaned in and went up on her toes to put her mouth near Severus' ear. "I can never tell," she teased thickly. "Who she fancies more. I know she likes me, but she has some definite fuck-me vibes for you."

"Don't worry," Severus replied dryly. "It's all for you. She just thinks cozying up to your stepbrother is going to make you like her."

Bellatrix laughed.

"Dante!" Severus called, nearing one of three bars spaced out in the room. A man was standing on the surface of the bar, fixing an arrangement of decorative liquor bottles set up on a high shelf on the wall. He had slightly baggy jeans that seemed in danger of slipping down to his knees, especially with the heavy length of chain gracing his hip. He glanced around, caught sight of the apparent stepsiblings, and after putting the finishing touches on the bottles he carefully jumped down.

"Trevor," Dante said warmly. "And Anne," he added, leaning over the bar. She stepped up and leaned forward as well so he could brush a kiss against one of her cheeks. Dante was good-looking enough, but he endeared himself to every girl - gay or straight, single or taken or not even interested - purely by being sweet.

"That's my sister, man," Severus warned.

"Yeah, and you hate her," Dante said.

"Hmmm," Severus replied. "True enough. Am I working tomorrow?"

"Um, I don't think so, no," Dante said, starting to wipe the counter. "Why? Did you need to?"

"Yeah," Severus said, ruffling the hair at the back of his head, looking slightly embarrassed. "We don't really have any place to stay, can't afford it for much longer. Crashing at Lauren's tonight, but I'll need some extra hours, if you can get me any."

"Yeah, it's not a problem," Dante said. It was true that Dante was a bartender, but he was also one of the three managers that ran the place - and the friendliest one, too. "I'll just fix some hours up for you. Jordan won't mind."

"Is Jordan around?" Bellatrix asked, shooting Severus a mocking look, which he ignored. Jordan was another manager, who was also head of security - a big butch of a man who was no-nonsense at best. He was always very nice to Bellatrix, but he also had a tendency to shout at Severus, pour beer on him, or have him thrown out of the club for imaginary reasons (of course, Severus always just waited for a few minutes until someone like Lauren just let him back in). The only reason Jordan never docked Severus' pay was because he was Bellatrix's financial support most of the time, and Jordan wouldn't do anything to cut into that.

Dante snickered. "No, he's not around," he said. "He got hit real bad last night so he's off recuperating. I'm surprised you guys weren't in."

"We had things to do," Severus said, shrugging.

"You mean you had someone to do?" Dante suggested, smirking.

"You're smooth, Dante," Severus said, rolling his eyes. "Real smooth."

"You know, Trevor," Dante said, "You're a real jackass."

"I know and I admit it freely," Severus replied coolly. "But you're just a fairy that tries to hide it."

"My God," Bellatrix said before Dante could respond, hopping up to seat herself on a barstool and rolling her eyes. "Ignore him, Dante. You should hear about some of the gay shit Trevor's pulled-"

Severus shoved her smartly off the barstool.

"So I'll be here tomorrow night," Severus said.

Dante saluted him. "That you will be, my fine homoerotic friend."

Bellatrix had recovered by this time, reclaiming her spot on the stool, acting as if she hadn't just tumbled painfully to the floor. "Can you get me a coke, Dante?" she asked. Dante nodded and went off, so she turned to Severus. "I'll stick around and be endearing," she said, "You go off. I'll meet you here in two hours, or at the corner in three."

"Right," Severus said, plucking up her sunglasses from where they perched atop her head. He nodded to Dante, who was returning, waved a goodbye to the young woman who was cleaning sticky tabletops - a newcomer whose name he hadn't bothered to learn yet - and left, passing the slumbering Lauren on his way out.

Once outside, Severus slipped on the sunglasses - which were technically his, but that was before Bella decided they looked _fabulous _on her - and glanced around at the crowds. His task of having deposited Bella at the club complete, he was now free to do, well, whatever he felt he needed to do.

Life as a runaway convict made for a lot of lying, but that was fine - Severus was a good liar. It was Bellatrix who always had problems with it. 'Are you a Death Eater, a loyal follower of He Who Must Not Be Named?' they'd asked her, and she'd looked them right in the eye. 'Yes,' she'd said, simply, and that had been that.

Severus lied easily; it rolled off his tongue as if it were born truth. Ironically he had real trouble speaking honestly; it had been imbedded in him from the very start that speaking his mind got him nowhere, and that uncovering the truth only bred discomfort.

And so it was mainly Severus who made the personas that he and Bella chose to use, and it was usually he who kept up appearances. Bellatrix was often silent, speaking only to the ones she designated as her chosen friends. It actually worked to her advantage, and endeared her to those she finally spoke with; it made them feel special. But Severus was the real talker, and Severus was the one that got them from place to place in one piece.

Being social was never something he'd been good at, but survival had forced him to adapt - and, to his surprise, it had come easily. Away from Britain and the magical world, and the taboo that followed him wherever he went, the general dislike he garnered from his appearance and manner - Severus Snape, decades after his school years as an oddball, could be popular.

With wizarding blood running through his veins, and with a wardrobe change from mature black robes to torn jeans and holed t-shirts, he looked to be in his mid-twenties. He was thin, almost anorexic-looking, and was the perfect mix of anger and resentment to endear him to the right crowd. He'd taken up guitar, which had helped his stories. It had come to him with ease; he was a fast learner, and his fingers were long enough to manage the chords easily. He was still at best rather shoddy at it, but that just explained to those who wondered why he wasn't a famous guitar god yet.

Bellatrix was harder to explain. Azkaban had aged her; they publicly blamed heroin, and ordeals far worse. They concocted long stories, just in case they were put in a position to explain themselves. Sometimes she was his cousin, or a friend, or some chick that he was stuck with and didn't feel like shaking off. Currently, here in L.A., they kept to the stepsibling story, and, true to the form of any mysteriously traveling newcomers, skirted their past: mentioning here and there their quarrelsome parents, the overdoses, the rehab. It caused the right amount of sympathy and wariness, and worked quite well to their advantage.

But Severus surprised himself. He was not, by nature, a friendly person. Often when he worked under his assumed disguise he was casual and flippant in company, and he knew it was a front; but now, lately, he found himself being genuinely social. And of course often the old bitterness would resurface, because it was his nature to dwell, and Severus would truly become an asshole of great proportions - but that fit into his persona, so it was alright. Together, he and Bellatrix were perfectly imperfect.

Severus had to keep up appearances. He checked his watch, then set off down the street, deciding to walk rather than take a bus. When settling in a new city it all boiled down to who you knew, so Severus was always quick to establish connections. Dante had been an early one, and Lauren was an unexpected addition, but the one right after that was a young woman by the name of Tera, but everyone called her Twist for reasons he'd yet to discover.

He'd met her in a bookstore. Bella had been off watching movies with Lauren, and Severus had needed to get out and see more of the city - that itchy, antsy feeling of being caged in was driving him mad. Twist had been on her break - she worked in a coffee shop - and was in the New Age section, looking into tarot. Severus had asked her if she knew where the True Crime books were.

Ever since there had always been a tension between them that Severus couldn't just lay down as having sexual roots, and they tended to skirt the topic as often as possible. Despite the general discomfort when they were alone together, however, Twist was a good person to know. She was the sort of girl that was on good terms with nearly everybody, well-liked and untouchable. She lived in a shoddy apartment three blocks down from Lauren's, and whenever she was home it always seemed to be patronised by the most startling types of people imaginable. The first time Severus had ever been there he'd walked into her kitchen and discovered a large, rugged looking man passed out at the table atop a copy of Jane Austen's _Emma_.

Severus ran his fingers through his hair, already accustomed to the shortness. With long hair he'd always felt a little dragged down, but he'd done it almost on purpose, as a sort of buffer - in the instance they were recognised he could chop it off and attain an entirely new look. Which was, of course, what he had just done.

That, too, was another reason why he felt the need to deposit Bellatrix somewhere else while he went about his business - their own safety had to be considered. He was very aware of the fact that at any second of any day he could be watched, and getting Bellatrix out of the way and out of view protected both him and her from being recognised together. The aurors, he was certain, had managed to get his picture - but he was just as sure that they had been unable to get Bella's, or to even locate her.

He checked his watch, frowning slightly. He was quite sure Twist was working today, and if so then it would be her break soon. If not, he'd just drop by her apartment and see if she was in. She was good company to have. As much of a loner as he used to be, Severus found himself, more than he ever had in his life, enjoying and craving the presence of other people.

He stepped into the café and spotted her immediately, taking orders behind the counter. Her long hair, black with chunks of purple, was pulled back and up into a bun, save for long wisps of fringe that hung around her face. She caught his eye immediately and nodded sharply before going back to her customer. He'd managed, it seemed, to time himself perfectly - it was just at the tail end of the lunch rush, and when he stepped up to the counter to order she informed him to stick around.

"My break's in like, ten minutes," she said, picking up the clear plastic cup for his frappe and quickly jotting down the drink order on its side in a felt pen. It was a large cup, despite the fact she'd only charged him for a tall - the perks of knowing someone in the service industry. "You got great timing, kiddo."

Severus sat down, away from the windows and nearer to the back of the café, and took off his sunglasses. He didn't have long to wait. Soon Twist was sitting down across from him, her apron gone. She picked up his sunglasses and fiddled around with them while he watched her with eyebrows raised.

"Nice hair," she said finally. "Looks good."

"Thank you," he said, reaching over and retrieving the shades. She gave him an amused look, her beautifully shaped lips twisting about, her lip piercings glinting.

"You look so much better with shorter hair," she said mildly. Twist talked in a manner that Severus preferred women to converse - physical to emotional, and not the other way around. When given the choice she grounded on subjects like makeup or clothing, rather than emotionally charged tear fests. "Like, you looked all scraggly with long hair."

"That's what Anne said," Severus agreed. "I cut her hair, too. Looks better than mine."

"Ooh," Twist purred. "And the hair you cut yourself always looks the best. Or the worst, but sometimes even then it's in style. So what are your plans for tonight?"

"Why?" Severus asked, using his straw to stir the contents of his drink. "Are you asking me out?"

"Not really," Twist said mildly. "Asking you in, rather. I don't work tonight and I'm not in the mood for going out. You aren't working at the club, are you?"

"I'm off until tomorrow," Severus said, shrugging. "But I'm staying at Lauren's tonight. Anne and I. We have to protect her in case her roomie's bastard boyfriend shows up."

"Ra-heely," Twist said, wrinkling her nose somewhat in distaste. "I've met that guy. Real asshole."

"You could probably come over and hang out, if you want," Severus offered. "Lauren won't mind. Lauren never minds."

"She's a real sweetheart," Twist agreed with a sigh. "But if you're right about the boyfriend she might welcome the company anyway. But something tells me you're not just doing her a favour."

Severus shrugged again. "I admit it; I'm running low," he said mildly.

"Will you be okay?"

"Working extra shifts tomorrow. Should be fine."

"I can lend you a few bucks if you want."

"Darling," Severus sighed. "I already owe you twenty. We'll be fine, really. I'm getting paid at the end of the week."

"Well, if you insist," Twist replied, reaching over the table and ruffling his hair, then smoothing it down expertly so his long fringe fell over one eye. "You and your stubborn male ego."

"I wouldn't say that," Severus responded dryly. "I had arguably low testosterone at school."

"Oh, tish," Twist said. "Your testosterone levels are just fine, fine manly specimen that you are."

"You sure know how to make a man feel good about himself," Severus remarked.

Twist grinned, wadded up a paper napkin, and threw it at him.


End file.
